È strano! - Ah, fors'è lui

It's strange! It's strange!
In my heart, those accents are engraved!
Would a serious love be a century for me?
What do you resolve, oh troubled soul of mine?
No man has yet ignited you
Oh, joy
That I did not know
To be loved while loving!
And can I scorn her
For the arid follies of my life?

Ah, perhaps it is he who
In the tumult
Often enjoyed painting
With his hidden colors
He, who modest and vigilant
Ascended to the sick thresholds
Awakening me to love!

To that love that is the heartbeat
Of the entire universe
Mysterious, proud
Cross and delight to the heart

Follies! This is a vain delirium!
Poor woman, alone, abandoned
In this populous desert
They call Paris
What do I hope for now? What should I do?
Rejoice!
To perish in the whirlpools of will!
Rejoice!